


keep making my heart flutter

by writing_way_too_much



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, IKEA, M/M, artist!wonwoo, basically i projected my love for houses onto soonyoung and got this, lots of smiles and kissing, rated teen bc wonwoo swears like twice, seokmin works at ikea, soonyoung is still a dancer cause duh, theyre so in love ugh i hate it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 11:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15728607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_way_too_much/pseuds/writing_way_too_much
Summary: Ikea is Soonyoung's one true love."I thought I was your one true love," Wonwoo says, putting a hand to his heart and pretending to look betrayed."Yeah, well, I'm cheating on you with Ikea."





	keep making my heart flutter

**Author's Note:**

> i have an explanantion as to why i am posting so many fics all in a row: i have a lot of almost finished fics that i'm getting motivated to finish. so. enjoy i guess.
> 
> most of soonyoung's character is me projecting sorry not sorry
> 
> title from seventeen's "oh my"
> 
> fun fact, the desk that wonwoo gets is the desk i got at ikea a couple of weeks ago
> 
> also: wonwoo's pet name for soonyoung is "star" because hoshi means star in japanese
> 
> edited may 28, 2019 for capitalization and grammar
> 
> disclaimer: this is completely fictitious. i own only the plot.

Soonyoung has always loved houses.

He loves living rooms, how they flow into dining rooms and kitchens and formal rooms. He loves the designs of bathrooms, loves the layouts of bedrooms, loves all the decor and personal touches that just accumulate in rooms over time.

Mostly, though, he loves houses because people live in them.

People’s lives happen in houses. They learn to cook there and compete at video games there and sleep there and cry there and laugh there and spend holidays with their families there. People select the lamps they want and the wallpaper they’d like best and the furniture their kids will be least likely to injure themselves on. People pour themselves into houses, leave little traces everywhere, make it personal.

Make it home.

If these walls could talk, they would tell stories of fights and makeouts and stony silences and deafening cheering when the favored soccer team scores. They would tell stories of midnight snacks and sneaking out and failed art projects and skating across a freshly-polished wooden floor in socks. They would tell the stories of people's lives.

And Soonyoung has always loved stories.

Apartments are slightly different, Soonyoung muses as he stares around the tiny space that Wonwoo had seemed so proud of over the phone. Apartments aren’t permanent homes, but you can tell by the worn places in the carpet and the shiny places on the countertops that someone has made a home here, even if they didn’t stay.

“What do you think of it, hyung?” Wonwoo asks, twisting the hem of his oversized t-shirt into a ball and tucking it under itself so that it rides up on his torso, exposing his skin. Soonyoung reaches out and gently unfurls it, letting his fingers graze the skin because he can. He has that privilege, has had it for a while now, wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“I think it’s a bit small,” Soonyoung says honestly. He’s a fan of big spaces, of walls made entirely of glass, of arched doorways and sunlight everywhere. This single-room apartment has dark-colored walls and lots of corners and smallish windows with black frames that let in very defined patches of sunlight. “But you’ve always been the one who likes curling up in the fetal position to sleep, so it’ll probably be perfect for you.”

Wonwoo beams.

  
  
  
  


Ikea is Soonyoung’s one true love.

“I thought I was your one true love,” Wonwoo says, putting a hand to his heart and pretending to look betrayed.

“Yeah, well, I’m cheating on you with Ikea,” Soonyoung shoots back, tripping over the shoelace that refuses to be tied no matter how tightly he cinches it. “Ikea doesn’t burn ramen because they weren’t paying attention and were on the  _ opposite side of the apartment _ \--”

“That was one time, hyung,” Wonwoo grumbles. He kicks a rock and it skitters forward, hitting the edge of the sidewalk. “Literally! One! Time!”

“And now I will never let you cook for me again!” Soonyoung flashes a bright smile at Wonwoo, who rolls his eyes. He stretches up and presses a quick kiss to Wonwoo’s cheek, a surefire way to get him to blush.

Wonwoo sighs and reaches out his hands, pretending that he’s magically opening the automatic door. He does it every time. Soonyoung thinks it’s adorable. “Not even when I invite you over for a romantic night at my apartment?”

“I will throw myself on a stove to stop you from cooking with it.”

“Maybe I’d just cook you, then.”

“I wouldn’t taste very good,” Soonyoung muses. “Hey, do we need a cart? I’m too much skinny muscle from dancing.”

“If we’re planning on getting me any furniture, a cart would probably be a good idea,” Wonwoo says, grabbing one of the flat ones. “And yeah, you’d be all tough and dried out. Not tender at all.”

Soonyoung huffs. “Excuse you, Jeon Wonwoo, I am very tender and loving.”

Wonwoo sighs again. “It is a very good thing for your continued good health that I am as fond of you as I am.”

Even though they’ve been to Ikea together at least a dozen times, sometimes purely just to  _ look _ at the showrooms, Soonyoung can still spend an impressive amount of time just  _ looking _ . Sometimes he takes pictures of his favorite arrangements and moves his furniture around accordingly, but today when he gets out his phone out, intending to take a couple of pictures for Wonwoo, his boyfriend sighs and takes the phone straight out of his hands.

“Give it back!” Soonyoung demands, jumping for it. Wonwoo sticks his tongue out, holding the phone just out of Soonyoung’s reach. “Wonwoo-yah!”

Wonwoo smirks and then slips the phone into his back pocket. Soonyoung pouts at him. “Hyung, we’re not here to rearrange my furniture. We’re here to  _ get  _ my furniture.”

Soonyoung pouts harder.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes and starts pushing the cart away, out of the showrooms, and Soonyoung balks. “Wonwoo-yah, dear, please, can we please spend a little time in the showrooms? Five minutes?”

“And then it’ll be ten minutes, and then it’ll be half an hour, and then the store will be closing. I know you, Kwon Soonyoung. I know how you work. You are not the kind of person to spend five minutes in Ikea’s showrooms. Come on. Come help me pick out a desk and a sofa and a cabinet style for the kitchen.”

“It’s really a kitchenette,” Soonyoung mumbles, just to be difficult. “It’s too small to be a proper kitchen.”

Wonwoo grabs his hand and links their fingers together, forcibly pulling Soonyoung out of the showrooms. “Soonyoung-hyung. Star. Come. On.”

  
  
  
  


A couple of somewhat excruciating hours later, wherein Soonyoung had laid on each sofa in the store to make sure it was soft enough and Wonwoo had investigated the drawer capacity of each desk in the store and they had both argued over kitchen styles (Soonyoung wanted white cabinets and light granite countertops, Wonwoo wanted dark brown cabinets and black-gray granite countertops; Wonwoo won, because, as he’d put it, “it’s my own damn house, hyung”), they’re loading the chosen furniture onto the cart.

“Okay, we need aisle eighteen, bin eighteen for your desk,” Soonyoung says, reading off of the piece of paper that’s got at least five different desk options written down and crossed out. It’s the same for each piece of furniture, plus there are doodles around the edges done by Wonwoo of Soonyoung flopping down on couches.

“This sofa is heavy as fuck,” Wonwoo grunts, maneuvering the cart back out to the main aisle. It had taken the two of them plus a couple of helpful passerby to get it on the cart in the first place. Soonyoung isn’t quite sure how it’s going to fit in his car.

“Want some help, dear?”

“Absolutely not.” Wonwoo fixes Soonyoung with a stern glare. “You won’t watch where you’re going and my nice new sofa will be partially deformed because you’ll run into the end of the shelving units.”

(They’ve been to Ikea at least a dozen times together. Wonwoo knows how to damage-control Soonyoung pretty well at this point.)

“Okay, if you insist.”

The desk weighs thirty-six kilograms. “Lift with your legs, not your back,” Soonyoung grits out.

Wonwoo also wanted an extra drawer unit with his desk. “I draw a lot, star,” he’d pointed out. “I need lots of drawer space for all my sketches.”

“I’m just glad your parents are helping pay for this,” Soonyoung had said, mentally adding up all the numbers and not really liking the sum he ended up with.

The cabinets are a bit more difficult, because they have to be installed in the walls and Soonyoung isn’t sure if he trusts either of them to do that, but nonetheless they get the boxes and carefully stack them on top of all the other boxes.

In the checkout lane, Soonyoung stares at the cart and tilts his head to the side. “I’m not sure if all of this is gonna fit in my car.”

“We just have to be creative,” Wonwoo says, but he doesn’t sound so sure of himself.

The people just in front of him argue with the store employee for a long time about the taxes and the type of chairs they’re buying and Ikea’s rewards program. Wonwoo starts pretending to be the angry middle-aged lady, copying her gestures rather well, and Soonyoung has to keep himself from laughing out loud, which gets  _ really _ difficult, and finally Wonwoo just kisses him to muffle his giggles. 

“Find everything okay?” the employee asks, still managing to wear a pleasant smile even after the hassle of the previous customer.

“Yes, thank you,” Wonwoo says distractedly, searching around in his pockets for his wallet, which contains his parents’ debit card that’s (hopefully) going to pay for all this. 

“That lady looked like she was not having a good day,” Soonyoung remarks. The employee’s shoulders sag and he lets out a small, slightly bitter laugh. 

“No, definitely not.”

Wonwoo finds the card and helps scan all the boxes, then slides and signs and gets the cart ready to go while Soonyoung is still chatting with the employee. It’s always been a special talent of Soonyoung’s that he can make conversation with any and everybody.

“Thank you for visiting!” the employee says brightly, his smile a lot less fake than it had been. “Come back again soon!”

“So I see you made a new friend,” Wonwoo says fondly, and Soonyoung grins, bouncing up and down a little as he walks. He grabs Wonwoo’s hand and tangles their fingers together just because.

“His name is Seokmin, and he said that we can ask ‘specially for him if slash when we come back, and he’ll show us the best sales and maybe even get me signed up for the free rewards program!”

If it was two years ago, Wonwoo would be jealous of the way Soonyoung is glowing right now. If it was two years ago, Wonwoo would be frowning and purposely putting distance between himself and Soonyoung, because two years ago Wonwoo still couldn’t quite believe that this literal shining star wanted to date  _ him _ , Jeon Wonwoo, just a quiet artist who worked part-time at a fast-food restaurant to supplement his income. But they’re past that now. Soonyoung knows that Wonwoo knows that he loves him.

“I’ll go get my car,” Soonyoung says once they exit the store. “You stand here and look menacing and don’t let anyone steal my sofa.”

“Excuse you, hyung, it’s my sofa,” Wonwoo calls after him. 

“Yeah, but I’m gonna take custody of it,” Soonyoung shouts back. He can see, out of the corner of his eye, that Wonwoo shakes his head fondly.

Soonyoung’s car is kind of old and kind of small, so they stare at it for about three minutes before deciding to just wing it. They end up going way over the allotted fifteen minutes for the loading parking spaces because they take all the parts out of the sofa box and stuff them in the backseat, then doing the same with the desk and cabinets.

“This is gonna suck to carry in,” Wonwoo notes, one hand on his hip, staring at the car.

“It’s fine,” Soonyoung says. “It’s in the car, isn’t it?”

Wonwoo fixes him with a glance. “Legally?”

It’s only a twenty minute drive back to Wonwoo’s apartment. Soonyoung just exercises the utmost caution and hopes he doesn’t get pulled over.

“I have never been this glad for elevators,” Wonwoo huffs out once they get about half the stuff onto it. The door guy let them scurry back and forth, carrying pieces of sofa into the building one by one. It’s a fun time.

“If we’d had to carry this up stairs,” Soonyoung replies, taking deep breaths to slow his heart rate back to normal, “I would not have survived.”

The sky is rapidly darkening as they heave the second half of the furniture pieces into the building, and Soonyoung casts so many worried glances up at it that Wonwoo tells him to stop or he'll get a crick in his neck.

They beat the storm clouds, but just barely. The lightest of sprinkles dot the shoulders of Wonwoo’s t-shirt as he dashes inside with the last of the cabinets. Soonyoung laughs at his windblown hair, going five different directions than the one it originally started in. Wonwoo kisses him in the elevator to shut him up. 

All of the bits and pieces are scattered about on Wonwoo’s living room floor. Soonyoung stares uncomprehendingly at the mess. “We did try to keep the different items separate, right?”

Wonwoo sucks in a breath. “Hey, do you want hot chocolate?”

They drink the hot chocolate that Soonyoung makes in the kitchen. Wonwoo leans against the wall and watches the rain. Soonyoung sits on the counter, because it’s superior to sitting in chairs, and watches Wonwoo.

“I love you, dear,” he says out of nowhere, because he does, because why wouldn’t he say it? Wonwoo blinks, looking away from the trails of water sluicing down the glass.

“And I love you, star,” he replies. A faint smile is lifting his lips. Soonyoung never wants to look away. “What brought that on?”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Dunno. Just feel like we may need some emergency relationship counseling after we try to put this furniture together.”

Wonwoo nearly falls over laughing.

  
  
  
  


“That wasn’t as bad as I was expecting,” Wonwoo admits some hours later, sitting back on his heels.

Soonyoung flops onto the newly assembled couch, breathing a sigh of relief when it doesn’t instantly collapse underneath him. “I have a couch.”

“Excuse you,  _ I _ have a couch,” Wonwoo says indignantly.

“We have a couch?”

Wonwoo snorts. “Honestly, hyung, you’ll probably spend more time on it than I will.”

“Joint custody agreement?”

Wonwoo drops onto the couch next to Soonyoung, smiles at him when he turns his head. “Love you, hyung.”

They fall asleep on the couch and Soonyoung berates himself when he wakes up in the morning with a stiff neck. “I have to dance tomorrow, Wonwoo-yah, and you let me fall asleep on a  _ couch _ ?”

“You have to dance every weekday, and it’s Sunday,” Wonwoo dismisses. “You’ll get over it.”

It’s stopped raining, and they put the new cabinets into the kitchen, lit by the window. Wonwoo hesitates when they’re about half done and Soonyoung recognizes his inspired face. “You can draw, dear, I’ll finish these.”

Wonwoo nods gratefully and spends the rest of the time sitting at the kitchen table, occasionally looking up at Soonyoung, who makes goofy faces each time he does.

The finished product is a sketch of a boy reaching up into a cabinet. Soonyoung can tell it’s him because there’s a star pattern on his shirt. It is the first drawing to go up on Wonwoo’s refrigerator.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Soonyoung is a dancer and Wonwoo is an artist and neither of them really make a lot at their respective jobs, but it’s enough to get by, enough to go on dates every week or so. They’ve been dating for two years and Wonwoo’s smile still takes Soonyoung’s breath away, Soonyoung’s laugh still makes Wonwoo dizzy. Wonwoo lets Soonyoung arrange the furniture in his entire apartment because the part of Soonyoung that isn’t a dancer is in love with stories, and he really wants to create their own story in this apartment, leave drawings on the top shelves of closets, Polaroids taped to the walls. Say: we were here.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! comments and kudos make me smile :)
> 
> hmu on tumblr @bestfluteninja we can scream about houses and soonwoo together


End file.
